


From the First

by KameTerra



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Cheating, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KameTerra/pseuds/KameTerra
Summary: There wasn’t supposed to be a first time, much less a third.When Donatello showed up at her window, though, April knew what he wanted, and she knew she should send him away—knew that if she told him “no” and sounded like she meant it, he would obey.  But therein lay the problem.From the first, she hadn’t been able to summon the necessary protest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you somehow missed the rating and the tags, please be warned that the following contains explicit sexual material meant for MATURE READERS ONLY. Also if you can't stomach turtle/human romance, turn back now! Finally, thanks to everyone who liked this enough to encourage me to post it here. You know who you are!

**April**

There wasn’t supposed to be a first time, much less a third.

When Donatello showed up at her window, though, April knew what he wanted, and she knew she should send him away—knew that if she told him “no” and sounded like she meant it, he would obey.  But therein lay the problem.

From the first, she hadn’t been able to summon the necessary protest.

Maybe it was because the initial indiscretion had happened so fast—by the time she’d had the presence of mind to think of stopping him, he was inside of her, and from there it was over almost as soon as it had begun.

Maybe it was because he was so _different_ in the heat of the moment, uncharacteristically bold and uninhibited, charged with a primal energy that was both intoxicating and contagious.  And unlike the way he handled delicate machinery, he was none too gentle with her.

Maybe it was none of these things, but something else altogether—something she didn’t care to acknowledge.

Whatever the reason, April had told herself it was irrelevant—it was a mistake, a one-time thing.  She’d had a little too much wine.  It would NEVER happen again.  That much she was sure of.

The second time had been in his lab late at night, desperate and furtive, in spite of the fact that she’d been careful not to give him any reason to think there was a chance of a repeat—she’d definitely managed to convince _herself_ there was no chance.  Even when he’d made his move, she hadn’t exactly given any encouragement.  But neither had she offered any resistance.

Tonight, though, she’d put a stop to it.  This wasn’t _her_.  She wasn’t a cheater.  And she certainly wasn’t someone who couldn’t stand up for herself.

She went to the window with resolve in her heart, opened it, and stepped back slightly as he climbed through.  Almost immediately she realized her mistake.  Once he was standing in front of her, with the full power of his presence so near and his eyes glittering with desire as they scanned over her, the words she’d been practicing turned to cotton wool in her mouth.

_Go home, Don.  It’s not going to happen—now, or ever again._

Instead she remained mute and took another step back, and then another, desperate to put some distance between them so she could regain her scattered wits, slow her hammering heart.  The air in her kitchen suddenly felt stifling, like when she used to hide under the covers as a girl, timing how long she could stay hidden before coming up for fresh air.  When he stepped forward wordlessly to close the distance between them, April continued to back up until she was stopped by the kitchen counter.

“Casey.  H-he’ll be home any minute,” she stuttered in a feeble attempt to deter him.  But it wasn’t the same as a rejection, and he knew it.

“He went out with Raph,” Donatello countered levelly, his eyes searing into hers.  “They won’t be home for hours.”  All the while he continued to close in on her.

Had he showed the slightest hesitation, had she been able to find the tiniest chink in the armor of his self-assurance, perhaps she could have stopped him still.  But the moment his hands were upon her, all thoughts of resistance fled—all thoughts of _anything_ fled, except how badly she wanted him to touch her, to take her, to _own_ her.  His idea of foreplay seemed to consist of getting under her clothing as quickly as possible, greedily groping whatever flesh he could find, but the more frenzied he became, the more she ached for him.  Abruptly he turned her around so she was facing away from him and pressed her quite forcefully against the counter, his breath ragged in her ear as he nipped her neck, one hand fondling the breast he’d freed from her bra while the other held her firmly against him by the hip.  When he paused and pulled back a little, fumbling at the button of her jeans from behind, she helped him, and then bent and braced herself against the counter, crying out softly as he entered and began to fuck her.

And that’s what it was—fucking.  She had no illusions about that.  There were no gasped terms of endearment, no tender caresses, no questions of what it meant or what the future held.  Apparently she’d only imagined that Donatello had any deeper feelings for her.

She told herself she was glad of it; after all, she loved _Casey_.  Obviously it was what she was doing to her boyfriend that made her feel so sick inside, so hollow when it was over.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered as she was putting herself back in order.

The turtle was already on his way to the window when she spoke, ready to make his usual quick getaway, but he paused and looked back at her.  “I know,” he answered. But it wasn’t the same as backing down, and she knew it.  He’d be back.  And after tonight, she could no longer claim it was just a slip.  One time might be a mistake—three times was a pattern.

She just didn’t know what the hell it meant.

Once Donatello was gone, April remained in the kitchen for quite some time, sitting at the table with her head in her hands.  But wasn’t until she was in the shower that she started to cry.

She almost succeeded in convincing herself it was Casey she was crying over.

* * *

**Donatello**

He was using her.  In his most lucid moments, usually shortly after he’d relieved his built-up urges, he knew it, and he hated himself for it.  But even self-loathing wasn’t enough to stop him when the need overwhelmed him, no matter what he’d promised himself.

Even now, just thinking about her, Don felt his mouth go dry and his tail begin to throb, and he knew his self-ministrations wouldn’t cut it for much longer.  Soon, he’d give in and go to her.  And soon after _that_ , he’d leave her again, too ashamed to attempt an explanation, and too selfish to risk the rejection that would surely follow.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted it, and he’d sure thought about it often enough—sex in general, and sex with April specifically—but in his secret adolescent fantasies, woven amongst the passion, there had always been intimacy, a mutual desire for one another, a shared realization that they’d both been longing for the same thing.  He’d never thought it would be like _this_ , the mindless pursuit of physical release that had nothing to do with romance.

He wondered if things could have been different if this had started in some other season, when the rational part of his brain wasn’t so easily swept away in a raging torrent of hormones.

Then again, if it wasn’t for the hormones, he was sure he never would’ve been bold enough to make a move in the first place. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

_“Hey Donny,” April greeted him brightly.  She craned her neck to peer at the fire escape behind him before backing up to let him climb through the window.  “No Mikey tonight?”_

_“No, he uh, changed his mind.  Decided to stay in tonight.”  Holed up in his room, if Don had to guess.  They all kept to themselves more this time of year, which Don figured was a combination of instinctive roaming behavior, the biological need for “alone time”, and the wisdom of past experience—they were all a lot more irritable as the season progressed, and they’d learned the hard way that Splinter’s understanding of the situation did not make him more tolerant of fighting amongst each other._

_But Don had had enough of alone time for the moment.  What he needed right now was a distraction, and watching a movie with April was a welcome one._

_April shrugged.  “Okay, well I guess it’s just the two of us, then. Casey’s out with some guys from work, some impromptu bachelor party or something.”  Then she smiled.  “But hey, this means we can pick something besides a mind-numbing action movie for a change—what do you feel like?”_

_“Anything,” Don said honestly.  “You pick.”  It didn’t matter, as long as it kept his mind off of…other things, even for a short while._

_After assuring her several times that he really didn’t mind, she chose a romantic comedy—something Don forgot the name of within ten minutes, but it didn’t matter.  He munched popcorn as he watched, peripherally aware of April curled up on the chair she favored, sipping a glass of red wine and nibbling a square of highly prized European dark chocolate._

_Thank god, the movie was heavy on the comedy, and light on the romantic, so Don didn’t have to suffer through any sex scenes.  The Big Kiss at the end of the movie, when the on-screen couple finally realized they were meant for each other, was uncomfortable enough, but as kissing was something Don was rather dubious about anyway, he was able to distract himself by taking a long drink of his coke._

_April, however, clearly felt differently.  “There’s just something about that first kiss,” she said with a satisfied sigh.  “Whatever the future may bring, at that moment, nothing else matters.”_

_Don stared silently ahead at the TV for a moment, pondering.  The he shrugged.  “I guess I wouldn’t know.”   This was stated matter-of-factly, his voice free from any bitterness or expectation of pity.  He just honestly couldn’t relate._

_“I’m sorry,” April said, sounding horrified, “I didn’t mean—”_

_He turned to look at her, and gave an easy smile that was meant to be reassuring.  “Hey, no, it’s okay.  I don’t really… get the whole point of kissing, anyway.”  He shrugged again.  “One of those human quirks, I guess.”_

_April gave a flicker of a smile, but her green eyes scrutinized him so closely that Don suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.  He broke eye contact and took another drink of his coke.  He was aware of her getting up from her chair, in the tangential way in which he and his brothers were always aware of the movements of others, but he almost choked on his last swallow of soda when he glanced up and saw her moving toward him.  It wasn’t the fact that she was approaching—it was her manner, the look on her face, that caught him off guard.  There was a sort of determination, a calm resolution about her as she sat next to him on the couch, and for some reason Don’s heart leapt straight to his throat.  He almost scooted away from her a little, just an automatic response to an unexpected invasion of personal space, and although he couldn’t repress the reflexive twitch of his body, he resisted the impulse to move away.  He had no real objection to her sitting by him, after all._

_She sat facing him slightly, holding his gaze calmly, so calmly, considering Don’s heart was racing under his plastron, and then she leaned in a little, and reached out to touch his face.  This time Don did jerk back slightly.  “April, wh—”_

_“Shhhhh, it’s okay,” she said softly.  Undaunted by his reaction, she touched his face, partially cradling his cheek, and let him know with gentle pressure that she wanted him to lean in towards her._

_Donatello was unable to breathe, much less resist, and he allowed himself to be pulled in.  The rest of his body was as taught as a high-voltage wire, though, and he was aware of little else beyond the electric hum of overstretched senses.  The only thing that kept him grounded, made it real, was her eyes locked forthrightly on his.  She pulled him in oh-so-gently until her face was just inches from his, so close that he could smell the sweetness of chocolate mixed with wine on her breath, so close his head was spinning._

_“It’s okay,” she repeated in a whisper.  “Close your eyes.”_

_He did as she told him, simply because he was powerless to do anything else, and now his heart wasn’t just racing but pounding.  After an excruciating moment, he felt the lightest touch of her lips at the center of his mouth—not wet, liked it seemed on TV, but marvelously warm and soft.  Don remained completely still, and she paused there for a moment before her mouth began moving along his, slowly seeking, getting him used to the feeling, the sublimely strange feeling, of another being’s lips against his.  Unthinkingly he began to respond, putting tension in his mouth to match hers, and a short time later, with one last, lingering caress, she pulled back._

_Still Don didn’t move, or even open his eyes—couldn’t have drawn a breath if he wanted to.  He had no thought of how ridiculous he must have looked, still leaning forward, mouth puckered, eyes tightly shut—it was just… too much to take in.  Sensory overload.  Distantly, he registered what sounded like a small laugh from April._

_“You can open your eyes now.”_

_He did as she said, pulling in a much-needed breath and opening his eyes to see April sitting back and looking at him with an indulgent smile—the smile of a friend, who thought she had done him a favor._

_“There.  Now what do you think of kissing?” she asked playfully._

_Don just stared at her, breathing rapidly but shallowly.  His mind was still trying to catch up with what had just happened, but it was a lost cause from the very beginning.  Although April didn’t know it yet, his brain was already being overridden by something that was, at least temporarily, far more powerful._

_He didn’t answer, but leaned impulsively back in towards her.  As his face drew nearer to hers, an expression of mild alarm passed over her face.  Don saw it and hesitated, briefly, but when she didn’t pull away he took a deep breath, closed his eyes again, and touched his mouth lightly to hers.  And from that moment on, there was no more self-consciousness, no more thought for what she might think, or exactly what he was trying to do.  All he was aware of was the burn, the flare of warmth through his groin, the insistent throbbing of his tail that drove him towards the inevitable finish._

_He started kissing her in earnest then, clumsily but insistently, barely aware of what he was doing.  April started to pull away, reclining backward slightly to escape him, her body rigid and unyielding, but when he leaned with her and persisted, she didn’t try push him away, or slap him, or yell at him.  And when Don next opened his eyes, he found that he was leaning so far into her, he was practically over her, and his breathing quickened still more.  This he’d never felt before, this feeling of dominance, of his powerful frame hovering over one so contrastingly delicate, so undeniably feminine._

_This is right! his instincts screamed, and Don couldn’t deny them.  He drew forward and leaned in still more, bracing one arm alongside her on the couch cushion to effectively lock her in, and she moved the only way she could and scuttled backward, shifting and writhing to get out from underneath him.  This was part of it, he knew, part of the test, part of the dance, and he touched with his other hand to try and quiet her, grasping her upper arm and shoulder firmly.  Be still!  I am strong; I am male._

_To emphasize his point he shifted and closed in on her again, seeking her neck with his mouth and biting gently, eventually switching to her shoulder, while his hand ran down from her shoulder to her torso, applying gentle pressure.  She went still, though her body was still tense, and that too felt right.  He breathed deeply of her intoxicating scent, and slipped his hand under her clothing, suddenly needing the touch of real flesh, real skin, even if the reality of it wasn’t what he expected—too soft, too yielding—but a sharp intake of breath from April made him forget the wrongness.  Her response excited him further, and he explored higher, fumbling and pulling clumsily when he encountered yet more fabric blocking him from the flesh he sought._

_His fingers found yet softer skin when he at last found a way under her bra, as well as the rubbery nipples that grew firm and sprang up at his touch.  The strangeness of it, so different from anything he’d felt before, might even have snapped him out of his feverish pawing, except for the equally unanticipated reaction it evoked from her.  She actually gasped softly, and though she didn’t exactly relax, the tension in her body changed in a way Don couldn’t have explained, even if he’d been clear-headed enough to analyze it.  All he knew was that suddenly, he no longer sensed any opposition, and the next time he drew a breath, he became almost intoxicated by a smell that seemed to skip his nostrils and go straight to his brain._

_He continued his fondling, squeezing and pulling while again finding her neck with his mouth, and she arched under him, planting one hand against his shoulder to brace herself.  Even this subtle encouragement drove him to greater excitement, and in what seemed mere moments, all he was aware of was the aching pressure in his tail that seemed to throb straight through his skull.  He needed… he needed… something more.  Breathing raggedly, heart pounding almost painfully, he pulled back from her neck, and automatically shifted his hands lower, searching.  The lounging pants she was wearing had only a flimsy elastic waistband, and he had no trouble slipping one hand underneath._

_She went rigid again for an instant at his touch, but when he continued downward without hesitation, she relaxed slightly and bent her knees up.  When his fingers encountered moisture, she gasped again, and Donatello got so hard he almost let himself down right then—but no, this wasn’t right!  It wasn’t time yet!  Gritting his teeth, he fought for control and rose up a little, positioning himself over her.  There was no need to pull her pants down—using his hand as a guide he merely slipped his tail underneath the same flimsy elastic, and the rest was instinct.  Using the last of his self-restraint, he extruded himself just a little, enough for the tip of his slick member to find the well of moisture he sought, and then finally he released himself, groaning as his cock slid easily into the warm center of her until he was almost fully enveloped._

_Underneath him, April stiffened and cried out, grasping both of his forearms… but she didn’t pull away.  Don, lost in ecstasy, was barely aware of her anymore.  Levering his tail only, he pulled out a little experimentally, and then plunged back in.  Grunting in satisfaction, he began to pump his tail faster, encouraged by her whimpers.  At first his body remained quite still while his tail did most of the work, but as the delicious friction increased and pressure built, he strove to push in a deeper, and eventually his entire body was moving, rocking, his senses swimming as he surged toward the finish.  At last the rising tingle of his groin overflowed through his entire body in a tidal wave, and with a final thrust he yelled out his release before collapsing breathlessly on top of his female._

_-=-=-=-=-=-=-_


	2. Chapter 2

**Donatello**

He remembered her face, the way she’d looked just after, when both of them had just begun to process what had happened.  She’d looked so… frightened, with her eyes wide and her breathing so quick and shallow, like a mouse that knew an owl was overhead.  He hadn’t waited around to see anything more—he’d fled with only a muttered “I should go.”

He’d feared the worst that night—that she would hate him.  That she would tell everyone, and _they’d_ hate him… but time went by and nothing happened.  He was too ashamed—and too much of a coward, he admitted to himself—even to try and apologize.  And the worst part was, as guilty as he felt over the whole thing, he still couldn’t stop himself from reliving the episode on a nightly basis in the solitude of his bedroom.  He’d only had to close his eyes to remember the way it felt when he’d entered her, the warmth that had surrounded him, enveloped him, _squeezed_ him… but trying to replicate the feeling with his own hands was like eating a Slim Jim when it was steak you craved.

But this wasn’t some random girl he had the hots for.  This was April—a person he cared deeply about, a person he’d do anything to protect… only, he’d never imagined it might be himself he’d have to protect her from.

The next time she came down to the lair after That Night, Don had avoided her completely.  He had figured she would do the same.  But later that night, to his surprise, she had sought him out in the seclusion of his lab and asked him what he was working on.  She had seemed very slightly uncomfortable, yes, but not angry.   Friendly, even, if more cautious than usual.  _Maybe_ , he had thought at the time, _maybe she wants to put it behind her as much as I do._ And so they had worked for a time, side-by-side at his computer and barely daring to look at each other as one by one his family members had gone to bed.  When the lair finally went quiet, Donatello had barely been able to contain himself a moment longer.  And god help him, he didn’t even bother trying to find out if she was interested or not, didn’t even _care_.  He’d just put her on the desk and...

Don broke into a sweat even thinking about it as he paced around his small bedroom.  _She came to me that night_, he thought, _I wasn’t even thinking of trying to…_ But then he stopped, clamping his jaw as if he’d been speaking out loud.  Because while that particular… event… had not been premeditated, he couldn’t lie to himself about the most recent encounter—he had shown up at her apartment with one thing on his mind. 

 _I have to stop_ , he told himself, clenching his hands into tight fists as he paced in his room.  _I have to; I have to.  Mind over body… I can do it._   Yes, the urges were strong, yes, it was part of his biology, but dammit, he wasn’t an animal!  If he could just find the self-control to stay away for a few more weeks, the worst of it would be passed, and then... maybe then he could… well, he didn’t know _what_ the hell he was gonna do.  But at least maybe he could stand in the same room and _talk_ to her without immediately… getting carried away.

At that moment, almost as if the universe was challenging his newly found resolve, Don heard his brother’s gruff voice from the common area, and he paused and cracked his door to listen.

“…Told Casey I’d meet up with him after work, take the bikes out for a little spin,” Raph was saying to someone.

Don’s breathing quickened.  “A little spin” could mean halfway to Northampton and back…

And he knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist her.

* * *

 

**April**

She knew he would come tonight.  Donatello would find out from Raphael that Casey was going to be away, and he’d take advantage of it.

 _I should go out—catch a movie, or get some shopping done.  Let him come; I won’t be here._ But she didn’t really _want_ to go out, and she hated the idea of letting anyone run her out of her own apartment.  So she decided to stay in and enjoy having the place to herself.  This time, when he knocked, she simply wouldn’t let him in.

That had been her downfall last time, letting him in, and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.  This time, the window would stay closed and locked, and short of resorting to breaking and entering, Donatello would have no choice but to leave.

Plan in place and confidence brimming, April went about her business: making and eating dinner, cleaning up the kitchen afterward, starting laundry, checking her email and surfing the web, all the while waiting for the expected knock on the window.

But it never came.

As time passed, April grew more and more agitated, and she made up frequent excuses to go into the kitchen, glancing at the fire escape window as she passed it… but the only face she ever saw was her own.  _Good_ , she told herself after yet another unnecessary excursion to the kitchen.  _Maybe he’s finally come to his senses._ She knew she should have been glad about, or at least relieved, but she’d been feeling rather empowered, gearing herself up for a denial, and now she just felt… sort of on edge, like she just didn’t know what to do with herself.

Hours later Casey stumbled home, surprised to find her still up… and even more surprised to find her so eager.  Long after her boyfriend lay sated and snoring beside her, though, April was still awake, staring vaguely up at the ceiling and feeling oddly… unsatisfied. 

* * *

 

**Donatello**

He couldn’t have done it without Mikey.  Even _with_ Mikey to occupy him, distract him, entertain him, Don thought about trying to ditch him and go to April’s.  But that was easier conceived of than done with Michelangelo, who had more of a need for social interaction at _any_ time of year.  During the spring and early summer, the increased isolation that came with their heightened aggression and need for “alone time” wore on him more than any of the others, and Mikey was so eager to hang out when Don suggested it that he was could barely find the alone time to go to the bathroom.

Which was, of course, the point.

Even though Don was distracted (thinking of April), tense (maybe I can still go!), and short-tempered (hormones), Mike acted like there was nothing better in the _world_ than playing air hockey with him, watching Battle Bots with him, getting snacks for him, and generally gazing adoringly at him for THE.  ENTIRE.  NIGHT. 

Okay, maybe not that last one, but after a few hours Don was definitely feeling smothered.  Thankfully, Raph got back from his date with Casey before Mikey went to bed, so there was no temptation to sneak out after that.

Mission accomplished.  For tonight, anyway… but if it was always going to be this much effort…

_It doesn’t matter.  You have to stop, you KNOW you have to stop…_

It helped that most nights, he couldn’t be sure of avoiding Casey.  And if he did happen to find out she might be alone, he could repeat the successful technique of hanging out with Michelangelo.  Or ask Master Splinter to give him a job to do—then Don would feel obligated to see it through to completion before doing something else.

 _Just two more weeks, three tops_ , he told himself.  _I can do this._ Then he swallowed.  Hard.

_I hope I can do this…  _


	3. Chapter 3

**April**

It was better this way.

It was better that he was staying away, better that he was done with her.  He _must_ be done with her, because there had been more than one occasion when she was alone, when he could have... 

But he hadn’t.  It had been weeks now of just… nothing.  Nothing but wondering when he might show up, and then wondering why he didn’t.  Weeks of hypervigilance and steady trickle of low-level anxiety that left her feeling strung out and jumpy.  Even her eating and sleeping habits suffered—she just couldn’t seem to _relax_.

Casey noticed.  Or at least, he noticed the _other_ side effect.  The overflow from all of that nervous energy had to go somewhere, and Casey was far from unhappy with her choice of an outlet.  He even seemed to think that more sex meant she was doing great, that _they_ were doing great, and he never bothered to ask where the change came from.

And what would she have said if he did?  April couldn’t even explain it to herself.

She just knew that the physical release was less a desire than a need—the buildup, the delicious exertion, the slide of warm skin and the flexing of muscles in synchrony, the rising of a dark wave from within that finally crashed over her and left her floundering, breathless… shipwrecked.

And in that state, for a few brief moments, her confusion and agitation were entirely forgotten.  No, not forgotten—more like her body and even her mind didn’t even _exist_ anymore, that there was nothing to forget.  But the blissful nothingness never lasted long enough.  All too soon the high of the climax would trickle away, and instead of feelings of warmth and affection rushing in to fill the void left inside her, there was just… nothing.  Casey would snuggle close, sometimes planting soft kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her breasts… and she would lie there, all poured out, and endure an afterglow she didn’t feel.

She would lie there and wonder yet again just what the hell was wrong with her.

Yet in spite of the lack of fulfillment, she sought that ultimate escape again and again—incessantly, ravenously.  She was driven to it, and driven _by_ it with a desperation she’d never felt before, almost as if… as if waiting for something to change.  Waiting for a different ending to the same tired re-run.

Waiting for something to fill the void inside.

Once, she started something with Casey in the kitchen and encouraged him to take her from behind against the counter.  He didn’t need much coaxing, and afterward, still shuddering with the force of his orgasm, he had put one arm warmly around her abdomen to hold her, his other arm braced against the counter for support.  Then he kissed the back of her shoulder and whispered gruffly, “Whoa, babe.  That was… wow.  It was good for you too, huh?”

April hadn’t reached climax, but she could understand why he would think so, for she _had_ cried out, and she was trembling, too…

But she was facing away, so he couldn’t see the tears.

* * *

 

**Donatello**  

Don held his bo staff almost loosely as he circled, knowing it would come alive without effort when he needed it to, moving like an extension of his own body.  Leo was playing the waiting game, blocking attacks when necessary, but mostly just waiting for Don to grow impatient and make a mistake so he could retaliate.  On a normal day Don may have tried to out-wait him, a strategy that he alone among his brothers had any hope of using successfully against Leo, but today…  today he just found the leader’s smug confidence _irritating_.  He was so sure he was going to win, was he?

He was aware that Mike, Raph, and Splinter were watching, but his focus never left his opponent.  Without warning, Don suddenly darted forward, simultaneously jabbing with his staff at his brother’s midsection, and Leo deftly stepped aside, diverting the staff with a down-sweep of his arm—his _sword_ arm—a move Don had noticed several times now.  Which made this one time too many.  In a movement too quick to see, he had spun the staff and knocked Leo’s hand with the other end, sending the katana clattering down to the floor.  Then he crouched low to sweep out with his leg, and though Leo was able to dodge that, Don continued to press him as hard as he could.

Wielding his weapon furiously, he surged forward with a barrage of lightning-quick strikes, adding in plenty of kicks and even some punches where he could.  He had watched carefully during Leo’s earlier match with Raphael, and though subtle, it had seemed to him that Leonardo may have been focusing too much on weapons.  As he had hoped, Leo was caught off guard, blocking strikes from the bo pretty effectively but letting a number of kicks through.  None of them were devastating, but kicks and punches took a toll, added distraction, and helped wear an opponent down over time.

One particularly heavy kick to Leo’s thigh landed square, and although it didn’t take him down, wasn’t _intended_ to take him down, it caused him to shift his weight off that leg.  Don saw it and swept the back of Leo’s good leg with his staff.  Almost in the same movement he came in hard, tackling high so the overbalanced turtle went over backward.  Grunting with the impact, Leonardo latched on and took Don down with him, but Don was already prepared for that and went into a roll that reversed the move, using the momentum to flip Leo over _him_ instead. 

Leonardo skidded over the dojo mat, partially recovering in time to make a sloppy scramble for his dropped katana.

“Oh no you don’t!” Don gritted out, and with a few well-placed jabs of his bo and a kick to send the sword farther away, he ensured that Leonardo would remain unarmed.  The leader managed to regain his feet, but Don didn’t give him a chance to regroup.  He advanced aggressively once again, the blood pounding in his temples, and before long Leo was reduced to merely blocking as he retreated. 

There was a fury in him, an uncharacteristic thirst for combat that made Donatello feel almost desperate when it seemed like the end was at hand… it was just too soon!  “Come ON, Leo, fight!” Don goaded as he drove forward without letup, putting all of the power he had into each strike. 

There was an immediate reaction to that—Leonardo’s eyes narrowed, even as a snicker and a jeer were audible from the sidelines.   Leo reflexively reached back to draw his other sword, and in that moment Don knew it was over. For one thing, he was pressing the turtle in blue so hard that even a split second to reach for a weapon was a lapse he couldn’t afford, and for another… Leo didn’t have another sword.  Master Splinter had decreed that Leo spar with only one today, lest he become too reliant on two.  Perhaps he already was.  Either way, the mistake was Leo’s last.  A few moves more, and Don had him well and truly defeated, his staff pushing down against Leonardo’s neck as his brother lay on the mat panting.

It was purely symbolic—obviously Don didn’t have an edged weapon, so in the dojo a move like this indicated a “kill.”  In the field, Don always carried a knife to use at close range if he needed it.

Donatello held position, chest heaving with exertion while Leonardo glared up at him.  Only when Master Splinter called an official end to the match did Leo attempt to get up, batting the end of Don’s weapon away from him with an uncharacteristic noise of frustration before climbing to his feet.

“Leonardo,” Master Splinter said from the sideline, clasping his hands behind his robes.  “Is it Donatello you are angry with, or yourself?”

Don stood catching his breath while his brother went to retrieve his sword.

Leo picked up his weapon, and with only a slight glance in his father’s direction he half-muttered, “If I’d had my other sword, I would’ve won.”

Don bristled, cutting in before Splinter could even answer.  “Get it then, and prove it!” he challenged, taking a half-step towards his brother.

There was a low whistle again from the sidelines, and a not-so-quiet voice said, “Duuuuude, _someone_ forgot to jerk off this morning…”

“Michelangelo!” Splinter barked in reprimand.

Don wheeled angrily, heat flaring through his body, and went for Mikey.  He made it only a few steps before two things happened at once—their sensei’s voice barked out an urgent “Yame!”, and Raphael, who had been standing next to Mikey, stepped boldly between Mike and Don.

The command alone probably would have been enough to stop him, but it was the sight of Raph, _Raph_ of all turtles, steady as a rock and ready to body-block him, that brought Donatello to his senses.

He halted, pulling in a deep breath, and looked down, consciously relaxing the almost pulverizing grip he had on his staff. _What am I doing??_

He heard Raph snap, “Knock it off!” but when Don looked up, he was surprised to see it was Mike he was speaking to.

Raph’s glance toward himself was very brief, but even so Don read something that looked almost like sympathy there.   The red-masked turtle turned back to Michelangelo and added in a low, firm tone, “Just keep your trap shut.”

Don bowed his head, his cheeks beginning to burn with shame and embarrassment, because he knew why Raph was sticking up for him.  It was because for once, his hot-tempered brother understood him.  Pitied him, probably, because it was becoming obvious by now that Don was taking longer to come out of it this year than any of them—even Raph.

“Leonardo! Donatello!  _Kiotsuke!_   Raphael, Michelangelo—come.  Kneel.”

Don turned slowly and went to stand obediently before his father, kneeling at a silent gesture though his heart was still pounding.  Leo knelt alongside him, and then Mike and Raph on his other side.  It wasn’t until Don noticed droplets splattering on the mat in front of his knees that he realized he was literally _running_ with sweat.  Which only added to his embarrassment.  Yes, it had been an intense match, but this much sweat... 

It had to be the hormones.  The fucking hormones.

And Don couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Donatello,” Splinter began in a grave tone.

“Hai, Sensei.”  He glanced up briefly out of respect, but then directed his gaze downward again, withering inside at what he knew was coming.

Splinter let the silence hang for a moment before saying slowly, “You are the winner of this tournament.”

Don’s eyes flicked up, startled.  This was not what he had expected.  Was his father really going to skip over his misbehavior?  His lunge at Mikey?  His aggressive response to Leonardo?  When his eyes met Splinter’s, the rat nodded slightly, and almost smiled.  “You have done well.”

Don cleared his throat and mumbled, “Thank you Sensei,” before looking down once more.

It didn’t happen often.  Hardly ever, actually.  Usually Raphael or Leonardo won these things, but even Mikey won more than Don—a point which he had taken plenty of heckling over.  It didn’t ever _bother_ him really.  He told himself it wasn’t due to any lack of skill so much as lack of drive.  He just wasn’t normally so… cut-throat.

Not the case today, obviously.  And knowing the reasons for that undercut any feeling of pride in the accomplishment.

Splinter went on, asking Raph and Mike what mistakes they had observed, but Donatello was barely listening.  Master Splinter was clearly still being lenient with them, conscious as he always was of the changes wrought by their hormones this time of year.  Probably he would continue to be understanding for a couple more weeks yet.  Leonardo’s fit of temper and frustration, or at least the outward evidence of it, was probably due in part to hormones as well.  So it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal yet…

But the truth was, everyone was beginning to notice.  They could see that Don still spent most of his time in isolation.  They could see that while everyone else’s appetites seemed to be improving, Don was barely eating.  He was irritable and he was noticeably more aggressive in the dojo. 

There was a lot of variation from year to year in these things, and that was why there was always a loose window of time in which Master Splinter made allowances for their behavior and corresponding adjustments to their training.  But soon, very soon now, he would begin to step things up, demand greater discipline.  And what if… what if he…

_It’s fine, I’ll be fine!  This has nothing to do with… anything else.  Raph’s taken longer to come out of it before, even Mikey did one year,_ he told himself.  But it had never been a problem for _him_ … and there was one variable this year that he couldn’t ignore— one factor that could very well be wreaking havoc on his hormones…

He had been sexually active.

And he _still_ couldn’t stop obsessing about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *should* apologize for being such a tease with this chapter... but I won't. You'll just have to keep reading. Bahahaha!


	4. Chapter 4

 

**April**

After the interlude with Casey in the kitchen, something inside of April just… went dark, likes the clouds had suddenly shifted to cover the sun.  Her insides were a great echoing cavern of nothingness, and though she did her best to hold herself together in front of Casey, once she had escaped to the shower merely remaining standing seemed beyond her power.  So she sank down to the tile floor, letting the hot water beat over her without even bothering to wash.

 If she sat there long enough, would she simply dissolve little by little and slip away down the drain with the water?

 There was pain, too, clawing up from the deepest reaches of her, seizing her throat with abrasive, constricting hands, fighting to break free.  She gave in for a time and cried dark, heart-rending sobs, her dripping hair forming a protective curtain around her face while the water drowned out any suspicious sound.  Crying helped a little, and when the tears receded so did the pain, pushed down even deeper by the weight of exhaustion.Her head began to clear as she grew calmer, and she naturally began to try to analyze what had just happened, to try and make some sense out of this tangled mess she couldn’t seem to free herself from.

It wasn’t like she’d _planned_ it, the thing with Casey in the kitchen--but certainly it was too much for coincidence that they had basically re-enacted her earlier experience with Donatello.   Apparently her subconscious had been hard at work on this one.It was the same, yes… and yet completely different.

She had just had consensual sex with a caring, giving partner, a man who loved her, who showed tenderness and desire to please her... and yet it was the memories of the other one, the one she couldn’t even rightly call a “lover,” that tormented her thoughts.  It was Donatello who had made the most sensitive areas of her flesh kindle and ignite with merely a look of those dark eyes lit with lust, whose rough, fumbling touches had made her physically shudder and submit to anything he wanted, and who had made her arch and hiss like a cat in heat when he entered her, though he didn’t seemed to either notice or care how she responded at all.

It was sick.   _She_ was sick, for being fixated on something that met only her physical desires--but no!  That wasn’t even true either!Donatello always took his pleasure in her so quickly and so self-servingly she had not once reached climax.  He had only ever used her… and some part of her _liked_ it.

Consciously planned or not, clearly deep down she had expected this incident with Casey to be in some way important, maybe even pivotal, because the fact that absolutely nothing had changed...   _that_ was why she felt so miserable, so sick inside, wasn’t it?  It hadn’t erased what had happened before, hadn’t made her “see the light” either in favor of appreciating the one she had, or letting go of the one she didn’t.  She was just as confused and helpless as ever, only now on top of that there was a sense of futility so heavy it was like a weight pressing down on her, suffocating her.  What else did she need to do to get past this?What if no matter what she did... she could _never_ fix this?  Couldn’t find a way to move on?

April pulled her knees up to clasp her arms around them and huddled there, head bowed and shoulders hunched, feeling somehow cold in spite of the hot water beating down on her.  All of the nervous energy and heightened anxiety of the last couple of weeks had taken a toll, and with what had just happened… she just didn’t have anything left anymore.She felt bone-weary.   _Soul_ weary.  

The crash was inevitable.

Oddly enough, though, this crash wasn’t painful.  It wasn’t like a fall from a cliff, where the bone-crushing force of impact would shatter her body on the rocks below.  It was more like slipping over a waterfall.She was bewildered during the descent, yes—sputtering for breath while her stomach bottomed out—but then she dropped into the water below, and instead of shocking cold there was a warmth that made her feel safe, almost cradled, like a baby in the womb.  As she was briefly submerged, she looked up, up at her life, distorted and dimmed and quieted by the breadth of water over her head, and she felt more at peace that she had been in quite some time.

All at once, she didn’t want to go back up there--back to the surface with its too-bright light and jarring noises, back to the ceaseless battering of emotions she couldn’t process.  She wasn’t ready to face that, goddammit!She just needed a break!

So instead of surfacing, she stayed where she was, able to view the events of her life from the muffled comfort of this sanctuary she had found.  She went to work.She ate.She slept.She had sex, when Casey wanted it.Everything was more or less the same, but… quieter.Slower.There was no more stress, no anxiety, no wondering about certain turtles and what they wanted from her.  And so she just floated there, weightless, somewhere between waking and dreaming.

If life lost some of its thrill and vibrancy as a result, it seemed a small price to pay for the peace she had found.

 

* * *

 

**Donatello**

Don was still hunched at the kitchen table picking half-heartedly at his plate of spaghetti when Raphael, the only one left besides himself, got up to clear his plate.  Don had told himself he was going to finish a normal portion of food tonight, whether he was actually hungry or not, but already his resolve was wavering as he listened to the sound of his brother cleaning his dishes.  Once he was alone, what difference would it make?No one would notice…The thought of eating any more made him feel slightly ill.

All he had to do was wait for Raph to leave.  Staring down at his food, Don heard the sink shut off, the clinking of plates and utensils being loaded into the dish drainer, and then… nothing.  No footsteps.Don twirled his fork in the noodles, but made no move to raise it to his mouth. _Why the hell isn’t he leaving!?_

After another moment came the sound of Raph clearing his throat.  “Hey… Don?”

Donatello looked up to see his brother leaning back against the counter by the sink, clearly not in a hurry to go anywhere, and he stifled an annoyed sigh.   _Great.  Just what I need right now_.

When it was clear he had Don’s attention, Raph cleared his throat again and said, “Um.  Earlier, before you came down for dinner, Mike mentioned maybe inviting Casey ‘n April over tonight.”

Don’s heart lurched and he quickly looked down, pushing some stray noodles around his plate.  “Oh yeah?” he responded in a voice meant to convey polite interest.He _hoped_ that was all it conveyed.

“Yeah.  It’s been a while since they’ve been down, so we thought, yannow, might be fun.”  There was a pause, and then Raph said, “You should, like, come hang out with us.”

Don bobbed his head a few times in acknowledgement, though he didn’t look up.  “Sure.Um.Maybe...”But he already knew he wouldn’t.

“I know it might not sound that, uh, great to you right now,” Raph ventured after another pause, “but ya never know.  Might even help.”

“I don’t need any _help_!” Don flashed with a searing glance up at his brother, but to his surprise, Raph actually grinned at him.

“Well you don’t need any help kickin’ Leo’s shell, that’s for sure.”

This startled Don right out of his hostile mood, and he blinked at Raphael, not sure how to react.

“I won’t lie,” his brother went on, “that final match today?  That was pretty fucking impressive.Not to mention entertaining,” he added with a smirk.

Don continued to watch him warily.  Raph?Praising his fighting? He had to be kidding.  “Whatever,” he answered dismissively.

“No, hey, I mean it!  Man, Leo was so fucking pissed!  The cocky bastard.You totally _owned_ him.  And when you yelled at him to fight back…”  Raph shook his head, grinning even wider.“Goddamn, I would’ve paid money to see that show!”

Don looked back down at his cold spaghetti.  “Glad it was entertaining for you,” he said sullenly.

There was a sigh from his brother, and when Raph spoke again his voice was both quieter and more serious.  “Look, Donny…You don’t gotta be embarrassed, you know?I mean, Master Splinter _wants_ us to be aggressive for these things.  He prob’ly wishes you were like that all the time for training!  If anyone should be embarrassed it’s Leo.”

Don snorted.  “Embarrassed about not being able to beat me, cuz I normally suck, right?  Yeah. Thanks for the pep talk.”  
  
“Oh, stop bein’ such a fucking whipping boy.  I _meant_ for underestimating you, dumbass.”

Yup, that was Raph all right—complimenting him and insulting him in the same breath.

“He was sloppy, and you weren’t,” the turtle in red added.  “You earned that win.”  
  
“Yeah,” Don conceded, and there he hesitated before saying in smaller voice, “But I shouldn’t have gone after Mikey.”

“Pffffff.  Mikey could make the Dalai Lama himself come in swingin’.  Besides, you didn’t even touch him.”

Don couldn’t help glancing up again to check that Raph was being serious, and when he did he saw uncommon compassion in the amber eyes looking back at him.  “Look, um… I know it ain’t easy,” Raphael said in a gruff tone.“This whole thing, it’s…I mean, it’s tough to be, like, out of sync with everyone else.But take it from me—worryin’ about it too much only makes it worse.”

Well, Don had to admit that Raph was probably qualified to give advice on this… though somehow he doubted his brother’s mating season problems were anything like his own.  But he didn’t say that.He swallowed and looked down again, nodding with a muttered, “Thanks Raph.”He was both touched by his brother’s efforts to help him, and mortified that it was so obvious he needed it.

“Don’t mention it,” Raph replied quietly.  Then he cleared his throat again, and his voice returned to a more normal tone when he said, “So anyway, like I said, you should think about comin’ out of your cave tonight for a little social time.  Hang with April.Get outta your own head.What could it hurt?”

Don thought a better question would be _who_ could it hurt.  And he knew the answer, only too well.  But all he said was that he’d think about it, and Raph sighed and left the kitchen, clapping his shoulder briefly on his way past.

Once his brother was gone, Don gave up all pretense of trying to finish his dinner and set his fork down, dismayed to notice a tremble to his hand as he did so.  He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his thighs under the table, willing the shaking to stop, telling himself to get a _grip_ already.  He knew there was no way his brothers could understand this, but he couldn’t trust himself around April.  Not yet.For god’s sake, he was becoming aroused at the mere _thought_ of being in close proximity to her!  And it wasn’t just fantasies or daydreams, not just extrapolations his mind came up with for how it _might_ feel… No.  These were memories.  He knew, he remembered exactly how good it felt to have his cock deep inside of her, the warmth, the exquisite pressure around his rigid organ while he drove in deep, again and again, holding her still with iron hands so he could thrust even deeper….

A prickle of sweat broke out over Don’s brow, his hands pressed so hard against his thighs that it actually hurt.  It was a very good thing Raph was gone, because his tail had swollen uncomfortably to contain his growing erection, making him fidget in his chair.  He’d have to sit here a bit now before heading back to his room.

But the physical discomfort wasn’t the worst part of this—they all had to deal with that this time of year.  No.The worst part was knowing how perverse, how _wrong_ it was to be constantly reliving those sexual encounters for his own physical pleasure, when what he _should_ be thinking about was what he had done to _her_.  He should be horrified.  Disgusted.Ashamed.Appalled.  And he was!But not enough to, to…

To stop.

He couldn’t take back what he had done, couldn’t undo any pain he may have caused her.  He couldn’t even stand before her and give the apology she deserved.Not yet.

The best thing he could do for her right now was keep away.

 

* * *

 

**April**

“Hey.  April?”

Someone was shaking her shoulder gently, and April made a muffled sound into her pillow.

“April.  Babe.You okay?”

She didn’t even try to formulate an answer to that.  “Hmm?”

“You’re normally up by now,” Casey explained.  “Did you forget to set your alarm?”

When he said that, April vaguely remembered her alarm going off… and she had hit the snooze.  At least, she _thought_ she had hit the snooze… or maybe she had turned it off completely?

“Babe?” Casey persisted.

She stirred a little, assessing.  “I… I’m not feeling so good,” she croaked at last.

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, but then said, “My stomach.”  It wasn’t _un_ true.  Her stomach definitely didn’t feel normal.

“Okay, ummmm, here, I’ll get you a barf bucket.  Just in case.”He left, and came back momentarily saying, “There.  It’s on the nightstand right next to ya.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, her face still turned away.

Casey pulled the blankets back up around her shoulders and then let her be while he got ready for work.  She kept her eyes closed, but she didn’t sleep.He came to check on her once more before he left, putting a wrist to her forehead.  She must not have felt overly warm, because he said, “Maybe later you’ll feel good enough to go down to the shop.”

In spite of what it might have sounded like to an outside observer, she knew this was actually Casey’s way of trying to cheer her up.  Normally she hated to leave the store closed, even if she _was_ sick.   She didn’t have any staff, and the thought of missing customers had formerly been a cause of anxiety, but now… now there wasn’t even a fleeting shadow of concern.

In answer she pressed her face into her pillow, muttering, “So tired…”

“Okay,” he said, with a sigh.  “Just rest then.You need anything before I go?”  April shook her head, and Casey gave her shoulder one last pat and left.

Once he was gone she curled into a ball under the covers, hands clasped and tucked against her chest, her knees pulled up to her abdomen like she was trying to fold her whole body into itself.

The pain was worse than yesterday, slight but deep, pricking her like a thorn from the inside in spite of the sanctuary she had retreated into.  Why, why couldn’t things just go on as they had been?Why couldn’t she just continue floating unfeelingly through her life?

But even as she mourned the loss of her perfect painless existence, she knew the answer.  The pain wasn’t crippling… she could still function with it, as long as it didn’t get much worse.  But she knew the nature of thorns.The only way to get rid of the pain completely was to extract it, relieve the pressure, let whatever was inside her loose… but she couldn’t do that.   She was too afraid that if she didn’t keep this contained, it would rip through her with devastating effect.She couldn’t know what the damage might be if she let that happen… far safer to live with a small amount of pain than risk being torn to shreds by the exit wound.  And this cocoon of numbness she had built around herself helped keep it this way.

She stayed curled like that for a long time, and gradually her muscles relaxed, her breathing slowed, and she slept.

And slept.

And slept.

It was the call of nature that finally roused her.  Once her bursting bladder was relieved, she fully intended to get right back into bed.  She was still tired, so tired, and though her stomach was hollow and cramped, she had no desire to eat.  The ever-present pain was still there, but as she was washing her hands, she automatically looked in the mirror… and froze in shock when she suddenly _saw_ herself.  Not just her reflection, but herself, what she had become.  Hair limp and mussed, face pale with dark smudges under her eyes, and the eyes themselves… that was what really jolted her.

_What have I become??_

She looked like a ghost of herself, soulless and insubstantial, like if she faded any further she’d become transparent and simply vanish.  She had fallen apart, turned into a complete _mess,_ and for what?  For whom?

For someone who had called himself her friend, but then used her and discarded her like she was nothing.

And finally, _finally_ , righteous anger began to rise in her, seeping in slowly at first, and then finally crashing through her like a flash flood in a desert canyon.  Cold and violent and somehow cleansing, it penetrated every last crevice of her being until all the detritus, all the unwanted debris—doubt, confusion, insecurity, and even the pain—was borne away in the surge.

Why did people talk about anger like it was something you had to get past?  Like it was the enemy?Anger was April’s _hero_.  Anger flew in wearing shiny fucking boots and a red cape ready to kick ass and take names, starting with the insidious villain Self Pity.

Anger was her savior and her cheerleader, picking her up and assuring that she deserved better, and she had every right to fight for that.

Anger brought her back to life… and what an awakening it was.  Finally she found the strength to rise from her somber inner hideaway, and though the first breath of fresh air after she broke the surface was shocking, it was a good shock, fresh and invigorating.  Slowly getting used to it again, this feeling of being present and connected to her environment, April took the rest of that day to gather herself.She showered, got dressed, cooked and ate a good breakfast, and took a walk in Central Park.  She breathed the fresh air, alive with the tentative warmth of spring, and took in the colors and scents and sounds that felt brand new again.She stopped in a café to have a cup of coffee and her favorite pastry, savoring every taste, and wrote down some of her goals in a notebook she had brought along.  Then she went to a farmer’s market and bought fresh ingredients for a dinner that she actually felt hungry for.She felt alive like she hadn’t in months, in _years_ maybe—

And she didn’t allow herself to think of Donatello, unless it was to remind herself that she didn’t need him, or anyone for that matter.

As she began to climb out of the hole of helplessness and despair she had sunken into, she felt so empowered, so confident that the very idea of needing validation from anyone else made her want to throw her head back and cackle like a mad woman.  She didn’t need anyone’s approval, and she certainly didn’t need sex anymore, either as an escape or an outlet.

Ironically, that was what it took for Casey to finally become concerned.  Oh, she couldn’t blame him for being confused—their sex life had gone from full speed ahead to a dead stop practically overnight.  Casey had waited a few days following her “sick day” before making any moves, but instead of going along with it or making excuses, she told him unapologetically that she just didn’t feel like it.  When he tried again a couple of days later, expressing concern and even some worry regarding the change in her overall behavior, she assured him that there was nothing wrong, that she was fine—that she had never felt _more_ fine.

And she certainly believed that to be true.

She could have—probably _should_ have—tried to explain things to him.  Even without mentioning any… indiscretions, she could have let him in on the feelings that had wrought such changes in her.  He was her partner, after all… and she couldn’t expect him to read her mind.But the truth was, she didn’t bother to explain things to Casey because the very thought was tiresome to her.  She had moved on, and she had no desire to go backward, even for him.

Casey would either adjust or he wouldn’t.

As for Donatello… she was convinced that it was because she had never gotten closure, the chance to stand up to him like she wanted to, that she hadn’t been able to let it go.  Fresh anger surged up in her whenever she thought about it.How dare he just leave her like that!How dare he use her and then just cut her off without an explanation or even an apology!

Anger stood at her shoulder and urged her to go and confront him, tell him off, and then cast him out of her life… and in truth, the only thing that stopped her, the only thing that could win against the anger, was her stubborn pride.

Donatello had obviously moved on without a thought for her.  Confronting him might result in an apology, but how much did a forced apology mean, anyway?  It meant exactly jack shit to _her_.  As far as she was concerned, their “friendship” was dead anyway.  Dead and buried, never to be resurrected.So not only would she not gain anything by it, she would be revealing to him how hurt she was.  Or rather, how hurt she _had been_.

Well, if he was capable of just turning it off like that, then she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d gotten to her.  If he could move on like it was nothing, then dammit she could, too!

And that stubborn pride was the reason, the _only_ reason, she agreed to come over when Michelangelo called her out of the blue and invited them down to hang out.  April hadn’t seen any of the turtles recently, but rather than feeling apprehensive about possibly seeing Donatello, the idea of showing him just how much she didn’t care made her feel empowered.  Oh, she would go down there all right.She would go down there looking fantastic and acting _perfectly normal_.

April chose her clothes carefully that night.  Since she never got dressed up just to go down into the sewers, she had to look carelessly, casually fabulous to pull this off.  Her “dressy” jeans, the ones that made her ass look so good, fit a little more loosely than they had before, but it didn’t diminish the overall effect.  She matched them with a close-fitting ribbed tank top that was very simple but emphasized the length of her torso and her flat stomach.Hair in a semi-loose twist, a light application of makeup, and she was ready.  If Casey’s suggestive touches and not-so-subtle hints that they show up “fashionably late” were any gauge, the night was going to be a smashing success.

_Eat your heart out, Donatello.  We’ll see who gets the last word._

-=-=-=-=-

When they arrived at the Lair that night, April strode in brimming with confidence and flashing bright smiles at Mike and Raph, who were lounging on the couch in the common area.  Mike sprang up and immediately seized her in an almost suffocating hug.

“Aaaaaprilllll!!!”

“Hi Mikey,” she gasped out, “I missed you, too.”

He released her and grinned before turning to Casey.  “Case-man!What’s up!” he greeted, offering his fist for a bump.

“Yo Mike.  Not much, man,” Casey answered as he returned the gesture.  Then he nodded at the red-masked turtle standing off to the side.  “Heya Raph.Uh.Where’s everyone else?”

“Leo’s around, he said he’d—hey Leo!” Mike broke off as just at that moment the eldest emerged from his room on the upper level.  Mike waved him over, and then turned back to Casey.“And Donny?He’s… well.He said he had some project or something…”Then he added more quietly, “Probably more of the ‘or something’ if I had to guess.”

That comment earned him a glare from Raph, April noticed, but Mike gave him a cheeky smile and a light shrug, and nothing more was said.

So no Donatello then, it seemed.  Well fine.She would just enjoy herself, and if he ever showed up he would see how much she didn’t care.

Meanwhile Leo had come down to join them, and at Mikey’s urging they headed to the kitchen together.  April and Casey had brought their customary contribution of snacks and beverages, always protested as unnecessary by the Hamato clan, but partaken of nonetheless.  It wasn’t long before Raph and Casey, drinks in hand, split off to look at Raphael’s latest project in the garage.Casey had seen as little of the guys lately as she had, and she supposed they both had to make up for some lost male bonding time.  That left April with Mikey and Leo, both of whom seemed in good spirits.

“So whaddya feel like doing, April?” Mike asked eagerly as they stood around in the kitchen.  “You feel like just vegging, or something more active?”

April thought a moment.  “Hmm.I don’t know about active… but _inter_ active would be nice.  How about a board game?”

“Sure!” Mike beamed.

April had a feeling that would have been his reaction to anything she suggested, and she smiled at his enthusiasm.  “Leo?” she asked, turning to the turtle in blue.

“Sure, sounds good,” he said with a nod, and though didn’t look as excited as Mikey by any means, there was an openness to his expression that let her know he was pleased.  “What game?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “What’s good with three players?”

“Monopoly!” Mike shouted, but Leo groaned.  

“Not Monopoly.  We never even make it to the end when we try and play that game!”  

“But RAPH was the one who screwed it up last time, and he’s not here!”

Leo was already shaking his head.  “No.You guys always cheat, and fight, and form these stupid alliances even though that’s not a THING in Monopoly.  That’s why it’s called Monopoly.  Mono as in _one_.  No teams.”

“But three is an odd number, so how could we even—”

“NO.  I’m sorry, but I’m going to need some more time--maybe a LOT more time--before I’m ready to attempt that one again.” 

Michelangelo rolled his eyes.  “Fiiiiiine, no Monopoly.”Then he added under his breath, “Probably be boring with Mr. Official Rule Book anyway.”

Well that verdict was no disappointment to April—she had never been a big fan.  “It’s fine, I’m sure we can think of something else.”

“Okay, what about, um… Balderdash?” Mike tried again.

“I love that one!  But… I think it’s probably better with more players,” April countered.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  Mike tapped a finger to his mouth, thinking.

Then Leo said, “How about Trivial Pursuit?”

Mike’s expression was so obviously disappointed that April was quite impressed when he rallied with, “Welllllll, if April wants that one…”

April smiled at him, warmed by the obvious sacrifice on her behalf, but she shook her head no.  “That’s a little too serious, I think.”

“Okay, so something funny then… OH! Cards Against Humanity!  Please, Leo?Pleeeeease?” he begged when he saw Leo’s lip curl in distaste.  “I was willing to play Trivial Pursuit!”

“You can’t use that as leverage when April didn’t even want to play it.”

“But I _would’ve_ , if she—”

“Sorry Mikey,” April said, putting an end to the argument.  “I don’t mind Cards Against Humanity, but I think that one would be more fun with Raph and Casey.”  Being both both crude and wildly inappropriate, the game was right up their alley.“Maybe later?Once they’ve had their fix wielding power tools or whatever,” she said, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the garage.

“Yeah… good point,” Mike conceded with a grin.  “One of the few games Raph actually makes _better_.”  He thought for a moment.  “What about Uno?”

“Maaaaybe…” Leo answered.  “Let’s come back to that one.  Hmm… a standard card game is an option, too…”

“Poker!” Mike shouted, and then his face positively lit up as something else occurred to him.  “Oh!OH!STRIP POKER!”

Leo just stared back at his brother, completely deadpan. “Brilliant.  But we don’t wear clothes.”

Mike’s grinned widened.  “April does…”Which was followed a second later by, “OW, hey!” when Leonardo whapped him on the head.

“A little respect, Michelangelo!”

Mike rubbed his head.  “I _was_ being respectful,” he muttered sullenly.  “I wouldn’t have suggested strip poker if I thought she’d look bad nake—ow!  QUIT IT!”

“YOU quit it!”

April was looking on in amusement, thoroughly enjoying the exchange and not the least bit offended.  She really _had_ missed coming down here.  How long had it been?The last time was the night when—

Suddenly her thoughts slammed to a halt, and her stomach flipped sickeningly.   _Oh god…_ _that_ _night…_

Quickly she shoved that memory down, pushed it away, hardened herself, because she was past that now, right?  She was stronger now.Still, she was dismayed she had even let it enter her consciousness that much, and she quickly seized hold of her righteous anger, pulling it close about her.   _Remember what you’re here for, April.  You got this!_

Still, as Leo and Mike continued bickering, eventually getting back on the topic of possible board games, she found herself frequently scanning around the lair.  Each time she looked, she told herself to stop… but seconds later she’d find herself doing it again anyway.It was a compulsion she couldn’t seem to break.

And then, suddenly, the very thing she’d been watching for was there, walking along the upper level, and for just a moment she wondered if what she was seeing was real, or an apparition conjured by her overstrained mind.

_Donatello._

But no, she thought, her heart pounding even as her body went cold.  It was him.Oh god, it was him!She knew that walk, that posture, with those broad shoulders slightly stooped—knew it so well she would have recognized him even from a much greater distance.  Her eyes followed as he made his way along the far side of the upper walkway that encircled the common area, and even though he was walking with his head down, seemingly unaware of her, she could hardly breathe _._

Distantly April registered the sounds of Mike and Leo talking, occasionally laughing, as the discussion continued, but it was as if she was no longer part of it.  Then their voices faded back even farther until all she could hear was her own heartbeat thundering in her ears… and her whole world shrank until it was just her and Donatello.   She watched him, transfixed, every detail so vivid and drawn out it was like the turtle was moving in slow motion.Just watching him walk—the fluid bunching and stretching of muscles, the unconscious ease of movement, the underlying _power_ in his physical form—drew a response from her, as if her body was answering some silent call, a summons that drew from the deepest reaches of her where rational thought had no authority.

Though the first sight of him had stolen all heat from her, now her flesh began to reawaken, warming as if absorbing the rays of the sun after a long stretch of overcast days.  Heat uncoiled in the pit of her stomach like a waking dragon, spreading through her core and out to her extremities before pooling in her groin, remembered sensations causing a surge of warmth and simultaneous trickle of wetness between her legs.  The sensation of arousal was so startling, so intense that it made her feel half-nauseous and faint.She had no command over herself; it was like being in car and realizing none of the controls worked.Scream and beg and curse though she might, she was a helpless passenger to her traitorous flesh.   She fought to breathe normally, watching the turtle until he disappeared into the bathroom… and then the kitchen around her swam, her vision darkening along the periphery.

April reached for a nearby chair for support, her head spinning, her heart pounding, and then she distinctly heard her name spoken at close proximity.

“April?  Hey, April!  Are you okay?”  

Her eyes automatically sought the source of that voice, her vision panning as if in slow motion until Michelangelo’s face came into focus.  She blinked, opened her mouth to say ‘yes’… and then closed it again and instead shook her head. _No, I’m not okay… I’m not one bit okay,_ she thought.

And then the darkness closed in on her.

-=-=-=-=-


End file.
